


the curse that falls ( on young lovers )

by wandasmaximoffs



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Multi, and they all live together in their little house for the supernatural, grantaire tryna pretend he's not the one in charge like boy, i guess? idk lmao, jehan is my fave vampire in the world sorry enjolras, some other amis too but i mean most other than the first four are just mentioned, vampire!jolras, werewolf!taire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/pseuds/wandasmaximoffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette laughs this time, and it’s clear and bright but there’s an edge to it that makes Grantaire’s chest hurt. “Pack mentality,” She says, patting his shoulder to signal the end of their first-aid session. “That’s what Combeferre told me.”</p><p>“Oh, God,” Grantaire groans, half-teasing,  “Don’t start with that. ‘Ferre’s full of shit. The fuck does a vampire know about wolf politics, anyway?”</p><p>(aka the vampire/werewolf au no one asked for.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the curse that falls ( on young lovers )

The dawn comes, eventually. And with it they all stumble back to the house. 

 

The others are waiting on the porch, as they always are, ready to help or comfort as needed. Most everyone is curled up on the padded benches, reading books or listening to Jehan wax poetic about the stars and the night sky. 

 

Enjolras, however, sits on the front steps, and waits.

 

* * *

 

 

Bahorel comes first, with Eponine close behind, just as dawn breaks. Feuilly comes next, followed by Courfeyrac a few minutes later. Finally, when the sky is turning pink, Grantaire stumbles towards them, a weary-looking Marius in tow. Injuries aren’t uncommon, when they come back, and Joly and Cosette can usually handle whatever the night throws at them. 

 

The blood on grantaire’s shoulder, though, leaking steadily through the wide gash, is enough to have Jehan kissing Enjolras’ cheek in sympathy, and flitting back upstairs.

 

* * *

 

 

“He really appreciates it, you know. Marius, I mean. That you’re all helping him.” 

 

Cosette’s voice is soft, gentle in the way that only she can be while dabbing antiseptic cream onto the large gash on Grantaire’s shoulder.  (He wants to blame Courf for this one, but who can really tell. Could've been anyone. He could’ve done it to himself.) He hopes it’s just another bucket of kindness from her seemingly never-fucking-ending well of altruism, and not just that she’s getting  _ used  _ to it.

 

Either way, her words snap him out of his thoughts and he  _ laughs _ , quiet and bitter. 

 

“Well. It’d be irresponsible to let him just run around with no clue what he’s doing.” God, he’s not drunk enough for this. Grantaire tries to force his tone into something less aggressive, anything but bitter or angry or god forbid,  _ upset.  _ With all she does for them, all she does for  _ him, _ Cosette doesn’t deserve that. In the end, he manages to land somewhere between close to tears and exhausted.

 

He  _ is _ exhausted. 

 

“He didn’t ask for this. No one asks for this, and no one should have to do it alone. If that means I have to be tailed constantly by a giant-- Puppy man-- So be it.” 

 

Cosette laughs this time, and it’s clear and bright but there’s an edge to it that makes Grantaire’s chest hurt. “Pack mentality,” She says, patting his shoulder to signal the end of their first-aid session. “That’s what Combeferre told me.”

 

“Oh,  _ God, _ ” Grantaire groans, half-teasing,  “Don’t start with that. ‘Ferre’s full of shit. The fuck does a vampire know about wolf politics, anyway?”

 

He tries not to think about the  _ pack mentality  _ comment too much. They’re not a pack. Packs are rare, and he knows Enjolras would have a lot to say about the damaging hierarchy and probably something about the patriarchy but honestly, he doesn’t care. Grantaire’s biggest issue with them is this: he  _ likes  _ being human. He doesn’t feel compelled to damn himself to a life of running around on all fours just for the sake security. 

 

(Grantaire is starting to feel more and more secure right where he is.)

 

“Thanks for this, biscuit.” She nods in return, all smiles and kind eyes. Grantaire plants a kiss on her cheek, grabs his jacket and  _ leaves. _

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras is waiting outside the room, as always, and he catches Grantaire’s arm as he walks out. 

 

“Your hands are cold.” His complaint holds no real weight, and he lets Enjolras pull him to him, and buries his face in the crook of his neck. His hands  _ are _ cold, like the rest of him. The side-effects of not having a pulse. (he suddenly remembers the day they met, the overwhelming feeling that he’s not looking at human being, but rather a marble sculpture Jehan had somehow pilfered from a museum of the arts. Well, he was right about half of it, at least.)

 

“Well, you smell like wet dog.” Says Enjolras. True or not, it doesn’t stop him from burying his face in Grantaire’s curls, his arms tightening around him until Grantaire finally,  _ finally  _ relaxes. “I’m glad you’re back.” 

 

He’s coming down from it all, slowly, the adrenaline of the night and all that came with it fading away. The painkillers Cosette gave him are doing  _ something  _ for his shoulder, but there’s nothing he can take for the sheer exhaustion that comes after every transformation. 

 

“Come on,” Says Enjolras, pulling back to look at him. “You look exhausted. You need to sleep.”

 

Sleep sounds good. Sleep sounds _ so good, _ and he’s so tempted to just get into bed and curl around Enjolras and  _ sleep  _ for a whole week, force the exhaustion from his bones, but--

 

“No.” His head falls forward and thunks softly against Enjolras’ shoulder. “I should go check on Marius. Make sure he’s not having a crisis or anything.” 

 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, but somehow manages to keep an arm around Grantaire’s waist as they start walking down. “Is he still having a tough time with it?” 

  
That’s a loaded question. 

 

Grantaire barks a laugh, part genuine, partly just to fill the space. In the few short months Marius has been with them, he’s found it particularly hard to adjust to it all. (Everyone does, in the beginning.) And Grantaire will admit, it’s hard. Insanely hard, to go from everyday human with a good career to fucking  _ moon moon  _ in the space of a night. 

 

He remembers (everyone remembers) the night Marius turned up, dragged along by Enjolras, bleeding and hyperventilating and totally unprepared for the life he was about to be thrust into. Grantaire has three years of changes on Courfeyrac, who has another two on Bahorel and Feuilly. Eponine, before Marius, was the youngest, with three total years, so it falls on Grantaire to be the “wise mentor” type figure. 

 

The universe sure does have a really fucked-up sense of humour. 

 

“You could say that,” Grantaire huffs, carding a hand through his hair, “I just want to check that he’s actually sleeping it off, and not sneaking off to see Cosette, y’know?”

 

Enjolras laughs at that, and the sound makes Grantaire’s heart go a mile a minute _.  _ “Ah, to be young, and feel love’s cruel sting.”

“Puppy love,” Supplies Grantaire, throwing his head back and placing his hands over his heart.

 

“I won’t be long. You go ahead, keep the bed warm for me.” He leans over to plant a kiss on Enjolras’ cheek, but somehow misses, and ends up in the vicinity of his jaw. “Ouch. Who sculpted you, Michaelangelo? Don’t answer that, of course he did. Okay, I’m gonna stop babbling out of exhaustion and check on the puppy. And you--”

 

“I’ll go to bed, and grab you something to eat.”

 

Grantaire smiles, and finally, it is genuine. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey. Pontmercy. Stop mooning over Cosette and eat your damn breakfast.”

 

In Grantaire’s humbled opinion, the day after a change is one of the hardest parts of being what they are. Waking up at three in the afternoon, feeling like you’ve just survived the apocalypse at a pretty heavy cost? Not on his top ten list of ways to spend time. But he’s had years to get used to it, expect the exhaustion and the random pains and whatever bruises and scratches he has left over from the night before, and has his own tried and tested methods of recovering from it as soon as he can. 

 

“I mean it,” He says, winking at Cosette and sliding a plate of eggs towards him, to join the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal. “You gotta eat, man, or you’ll feel like shit for longer. Even Cosette’s lovely face can’t cure this.”

 

Jehan smiles behind their napkin. (Napkin. At  _ breakfast.  _ Fucking  _ vampires _ . Though he supposes that’s better than seeing any _ “unsightly haematological remnants,” _ as Jehan puts it.) And Enjolras just simply watches Grantaire move about the kitchen. He likes to cook. He liked to cook, before all this, and now he has plenty of people to cook  _ for,  _ and Enjolras has no complaints against anything that keeps him busy enough to stay sober.

  
  


“Epo _ nine! _ ” He yells, eyes cast heavenward as thought simply looking in the direction of her room would wake her up. “Rise and  _ shine,  _ c’mon!” 

 

When no sound comes from the room above, he shoots a pleading glance at Courfeyrac. “Wake her up? Please? Before she oversleeps and growls at us all non-stop for a week?”

For some reason, unknown to both God and Grantaire, Courfeyrac smirks as he gets up. “Sure thing.” 

 

Enjolras shoots him a warning glance, before getting up and wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist. “You should slow down. You get to recover too, you know.” 

 

He grumbles in response, turning his head slightly to peck his cheek (and this time, he doesn’t miss.)

 

“Someone’s gotta make sure these dumbasses take care of themselves. We aren’t like you, oh fearless leader. We’re much more mortal.” His tone is teasing, and he elbows Enjolras in the ribs gently. “You hear that, Pontmercy?” He adds, as Enjolras snickers into his shoulder, “We are susceptible to most forces of nature. Eat your fucking breakfast.”

  
Marius, looking at his friends gathered around, some nursing wounds or drinking from suspiciously obtuse glasses, and for the first time in six months he feels truly at home.

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god idk why i wrote this but it was fun cause i like lore and stuff. anyway there are definitely so many mistakes and typos but #let me live cause its SUPER LATE here so im hoping yall can forgive me!! comments and kudos and all that jazz are always appreciated and as always i love u all bless u for reading this trash.
> 
> u can find on tumblr @ jehanprouvaiire !!


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